Beauty and the Bookworm
by VegetablesBasket
Summary: Bookworm Hermione Granger takes an internship at St. Mungo's, and at the height of her self-conscious adolescence, she finds confidence (and love) through one of the hospital's residents: the beautiful Gilderoy Lockhart. ((Year 5, book-verse))
1. Vanity

**Thank you for opening this story. It takes place in year 5 and is book-verse (I haven't seen the movies). Please read and review! Constructive criticism, thoughts, speculations, all that good stuff is welcome. This story will be updated every Saturday.**

Fifteen was a delicate age for me. My time was limited, and my worries were constant. Typically, I spent both my waking and sleeping hours worrying about my upcoming O.W.L. exams, worrying about my friend Harry, and worrying about Voldemort's horrifying return.

You might think that this left no time for a girl like me to bother with the smaller anxieties that usually consumed adolescent minds, but you would be mistaken.

Though I would never willingly admit it to my two obviously male best friends, I was not immune to worrying about how out of control my hair looked no matter how many "shine-and-slick" charms I attempted to put on it, how my breasts had suddenly seemed to grow too large for my school uniform to fit comfortably, and how-starting last summer-I had unwelcome monthly visits from a rudely insistent acquaintance.

Yes, I was growing up, just like the rest of the students at Hogwarts. No matter how frivolous I found these annoyances, I was unable to escape them. Indeed, neither books nor bravery-my two favorite means of problem-solving-could stop me from wasting half my Saturday memorizing spells to vanish the cluster of zits that had maliciously greeted me when I had woken up.

"Hermione, what are you playing at? It's Saturday morning and you're probably already a week ahead in homework, or ten weeks, who knows...so why do you still have your nose in that book?" Ron inquired, shaking his head as he entered the Gryffindor common room with Harry to find me curled up by the fire, eyes scrolling the pages of _Look on the Outside As Beautiful as You Feel on the Inside: An Inspirational Spell Guide _by Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Ron! Harry! Oh, I'm just-" I started, closing the book and laying it face down, hoping he didn't read the title. My cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. "I'm not ten weeks ahead in homework! Even for me, that would be impossible. But as you know, our O.W.L.'s are coming up in four months, and I don't think there is any such thing as being over-prepared."

It appeared that Harry was ignoring my words, which I knew he had heard a million times over before, and instead tilting his head to read the spine of the book I had been engrossed in. "_Look on the Outside as-_" he began before his eyes shot back up at me, his eyebrows furrowed. "A Gilderoy Lockhart book? Wait, Hermione, we don't have to know that stuff for the O.W.L.'s, do we?" Instead of suspicion or accusation, a small note of worry could be heard in his voice. "I thought Flitwick said the Charms O.W.L. only covered stuff we learned third year and higher."

"W-well, he did. Though I'm surprised you were actually listening to that, Harry," I attempted, feeling slightly guilty for the insult, but I had to buy time to think my way out of admitting to the boys that I was trying to beautify my appearance with charms. They would never let me live it down. "The thing is...well, this particular book...it contains some obscure ancient spells that Flitwick said have a small chance of appearing on the O.W.L. A very small chance, but still a chance."

Ron scoffed and sat down in the armchair next to me, stealing the book off the ground and flipping open to the chapter I had bookmarked. I tried to protest, but he immediately began to read aloud. "'How to get rid of a particularly pesky zit in three easy incantations'? Is that what you call an obscure ancient spell, Hermione?"

Suddenly he started laughing, and when I hurriedly turned to Harry, I saw that there was mirth twinkling in his green eyes as well, a smile tugging at his lips. "Hermione, you could have just told us you were trying to...well, you know," he offered. "It's no big deal really."

But it was a big deal. It was a very big deal to me, the self-conscious girl that was stuck with two boys as best friends. My fists clenched at my sides, my face burning yet again. Before I could reply to Harry, Ron found a gap in his fits of laughter to say: "I guess you'll need to say twelve incantations though!"

My jaw and stomach dropped. I knew this was an especially hurtful reference to the fact that, in one night's time, I had four new zits gathered in an archipelago on my chin. Suddenly hot tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. "Shut up, Ron! Stop laughing! I was just-you couldn't possibly understand!" I then screamed, grabbing the book back from him and racing through the portrait hole. "Aw, damn it. I was just joking! We all have them! It's no big deal, really!" he called after me, but I ignored this and kept running. The last thing I heard him yell was "Come on, I don't want to have to walk on eggshells with you just because you're a girl!"

But the truth was, I was no longer a girl. I was in the thick of becoming a young woman, and my hormones were wreaking havoc on every aspect of my being.

It didn't help matters that, despite Harry and Ron being my buddies, I had begun to see both of them in a slightly different light than I had in previous years. I was not in love with either of them, but for some reason, some reason that I couldn't put my finger on, I felt a gap growing between us. I had begun wanting them to see me as 'pretty', and I didn't feel as if I could confide all my deepest thoughts to them the way I had grown accustomed to.

Now, after running away from my friends with tears nipping at my eyes, I dashed down to my refuge: the library. It was nearly empty, as I suppose most students tended to side with Harry and Ron on the topic of how to spend a Saturday morning, and I slid down into the first seat I could find.

I let a few tears fall freely down onto the picture of Gilderoy Lockhart that grinned up at me from my book. Opening it again with a shaky hand, I came across the introduction that Lockhart had written, or at least claimed he had written. Not entirely sure why, I found myself reading it as the tears continue to trickle down my cheeks.

'Greetings, readers, new and old! You have made a wise purchase by securing for yourself a copy of _Look on the Outside as Beautiful as You Feel on the Inside: An Inspirational Guide_. Let me be the first to tell you that appearance is not everything; however, what reason is there to hide your true beautiful self from the world that sees you each day? No reason at all, I say!

Of course not everyone was born as naturally gorgeous as I was. That is to be expected, and is nobody's fault by the Fates'. Please refrain from feeling badly about yourself if you did not inherit the kind of genetics that I did. The entire point of this book is to allow people like you to harness their internal beauty and make it shine on the outside the way I'm certain it already does on the inside!

And that is my gift to you. If you follow my charms, spells, and incantations to the letter, you will soon find that the true you-the incandescent soul that lies within-will be exposed for everyone to admire. Perhaps then you, like me, will find the mirror has become your best friend!

With wishes of your good fortune,

Gilderoy Lockhart

Best-selling Author

Order of Merlin, Third Class

Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League

Five Times Winner of _Witch Weekly's_ 'Most Charming Smile Award''

Oh, yes, Lockhart had definitely written the introduction himself, I realized. And after I had finished reading it, I found that I had stopped crying. Somehow Lockhart's words provided me with a sliver of comfort. True, they were laced with arrogance, but there was also genuine encouragement in them.

Though my confidence in my appearance was lacking at age fifteen, I felt sure that I possessed many beautiful internal qualities: intelligence, courage, loyalty, fairness, and a kind heart.

And as I thought more about this, my need for the book diminished. Who really cared about a few zits when I knew that I was a good person?

...I did. I cared.

For a brief moment, I imagined myself strutting out of the library filled with self-assurance. I imagined myself heading back to the Gryffindor common room and apologizing to Harry and Ron over what a vain, silly girl I had acted like. I imagined spending the rest of my Saturday in a much more fulfilling and productive fashion, perhaps by taking a walk by the lake with my friends and then studying material that would really appear on the O.W.L.'s.

But that was not to be.

Instead I flipped back to the chapter on making zits vanish and began reciting the spells to myself yet again. My stomach lurched with guilt and confusion over what I was doing. I barely felt like myself, being this concerned over something so admittedly superficial, and what I really needed was someone to talk to about the roller-coaster emotions of my adolescence.

What I really needed was a girl friend. But what I ended up getting was a boyfriend, and one that was neither Harry nor Ron. Harry and Ron were boys, and as it has been stated that I was quickly becoming a woman, I realized-in only a month after this little incident-that I wanted a man.


	2. Reunion

The Monday following my descent into vanity and my fight with Ron, things were looking up for me.

I had already reconciled with the redhead; I admitted that I had been acting superficial and sensitive, and Ron admitted he had been immature and mean. Ron and Harry probably noticed that the four zits had disappeared from my chin in a magically short amount of time, but-very wisely-neither of them made mention of it.

After I charmed my way out of the acne attack, I began feeling more confident again, or at least as confident in my appearance as I usually was. There had only been one night that I had felt undeniably beautiful, and that had been the night of the Yule Ball. Nowadays I was happy when I felt just average-looking, and with a clear face, I found myself feeling just that.

So I retreated back into studying, deciding to stop obsessing over my looks (at least for the time being), and it was during one of my study sessions at the library that Professor McGonagall approached me and asked me to join her in her office.

A rush of excitement coursed through my body. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, when a professor asked to speak to me privately, it was to praise me or give me a special opportunity based on my amazing performance in school. This time was no different.

"Miss Granger, as I'm sure you're aware, you are the top-performing student in Gryffindor, and in fact the top-performing student of your entire class," McGonagall said after we sat down in her office.

I smiled lightly and nodded. "Well, yes, I suspected I was. Though I couldn't say for sure."

"Well, you are," McGonagall assured. "And as such, I would like to invite you to participate in a special opportunity that has come to my attention. Typically I would be consulting with you on career advice _next_ month, but I have chosen to make an exception for you."

"Career advice?" I asked, blinking wildly. "Oh, but I haven't even started looking through the pamphlets yet!" I took a shaky breath. 'Darn it, why didn't I start earlier? I should have started earlier!' a little voice in my head cried out.

McGonagall smirked and waved her hand nonchalantly. "Oh, it's quite all right, Miss Granger. It's just that I have recently found out about an internship that has opened up at St. Mungo's Hospital, and I thought you may be interested." "Y-you mean, to train to become a Healer?"

"Well, that's the nice thing about this particular internship. It's very well-rounded. It utilizes skills from Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and yes, Healing," McGonagall offered. "You would be acting as an assistant to a Healer there, and you would be able to help her with both medical research and the day-to-day practices of the hospital. Does that sound like something you might like to do?"

I swallowed a lump that had appeared in my throat. "That sounds like an incredible opportunity, but...are you sure that a fifth-year student like me is the best choice? Perhaps a sixth or seventh year that is already preparing to work at the hospital-"

"Well, I could certainly offer it to a sixth or seventh year. I only figured that a student of your many talents might thrive in such a position. I want to make sure you stay challenged and get a heads-up on any career that might interest you, as I am sure you will go far in whatever field you choose." Unable to help myself from blushing at this praise, I looked down to my lap. "However, if you are not interested, that is perfectly fine."

At that, my eyes shot up again. "No, no, wait! I am interested! I'm very interested! It sounds like something I've only ever dreamed about doing! Real, meaningful work in the wizarding world!"

"I assumed as much," McGonagall replied with a knowing smile. "It won't take up too much of your time, as I know you are busy studying for your O.W.L.'s. It will only be one night a week, Tuesday from 6 PM to 9 PM. You will report to Mrs. Barnaby."

I instantly began scribbling down the details of the internship in a notebook I had retrieved from my book bag, and after another ten minutes of discussion, I left the office feeling like I was drifting on a beautiful cloud.

Yes, the internship could be considered one additional thing to worry about, but instead I saw it as a god-send. No feeling on Earth felt quite as good to me as knowing that I would be participating in something that could directly help me secure a bright future. No feeling that I had experienced thus far, at least.

But that was soon about to change.

The very next night, I arrived at St. Mungo's and reported to Mrs. Barnaby with utmost enthusiasm. Barnaby, a plump woman with short black hair and warm blue eyes, told me to make myself right at home, to explore the hospital as I pleased and to become acquainted with its residents. The "real work" would begin on Thursday.

Though disappointed that I wouldn't be doing any work yet, I found my stroll through the hospital to be nothing short of fascinating. By the time I had reached the Fourth Floor, I had already seen a vast variety of curious sights, including but not limited to a man whose nose had swollen twice the size of his head due to a sting from a creature called a knuption (I secretly hoped that Hagrid would never bring one of those into class), a strange case of dragon pox that made the afflicted woman not only covered in purple spots but also sprout tiny purple wings on her back, and a pair of twins that were physically unable to stop reciting alphabet backward.

Indeed, by the time I reached the Spell Damage floor, my head was already spinning. So much so, in fact, that I felt the need to take a seat on a small leather couch near the elevator to take a breather before treading onward to see what grotesque maladies lay ahead of me.

"But surely you want my autograph. It matters little that you did not come here to see me; you have now seen me, and so it's only natural for you to want physical proof that you met me, a little something to boast about to all your friends back home."

I looked to my right as I heard this booming voice coming from behind a pair of closed doors. It was immediately recognizable as the voice of my former professor (and first crush), Gilderoy Lockhart.

I decided to move down on the couch, closer to the door, to see how much more I could overhear. A woman was now speaking, but unlike Lockhart's, her voice was timid and quiet, and I couldn't make out the words.

Soon after, Lockhart spoke yet again. "Well, fine then! Be that way! But don't come crawling back here when you realize what a glorious opportunity you missed out on."

Seconds later, a well-dressed young woman exited the room, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she pressed the "down" button on the elevator. Turning back to the door, I saw that the woman-in her haste to get away from the insistent narcissist inside-had left it slightly ajar.

'That door is supposed to remain locked,' I thought to myself. I had learned this tidbit the last time I had been at St. Mungo's, on Christmas. 'I might not be allowed in there. But then again, Mrs. Barnaby did say I could get acquainted with the entire hospital and all of its residents, didn't she?'

A small war broke out in the pit of my stomach. When I was a little girl, I had been a stickler for rules and for staying out of trouble whenever possible, but all that changed when I began Hogwarts. Initially confused about why the Sorting Hat placed me in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, I now had ample evidence to support the hat's decision.

Still, every time I wanted to break a rule, a part of me tried to hold me back. That part rarely won these days, but it still put up a decent fight. Bounding up from my seat, I entered the closed ward and looked around for a nurse. None were present. Three of the ward's residents were already asleep, but Gilderoy Lockhart appeared wide awake, sitting at a small desk next to his bed and writing with a colorful but worn-out quill on a long piece of parchment.

I figured my footsteps must have been quiet as a mouse's, for Lockhart didn't even glance up when I entered. Instead, I was left standing there, staring at him. Though I had seen him only a few months ago, our meeting had been brief, and I hadn't uttered a single word to him. Harry and Ron had done all the talking; it had felt like I was invisible.

That was because then, like now, I had been struck breathless by the man. It seemed impossible, but St. Mungo's hadn't done any damage whatsoever to Lockhart's flawless looks. In fact, I thought he might have looked better than ever somehow. His golden locks, once down to his shoulders, now cascaded down half his back; and was it possible for someone's eyes to become more blue over the years?

I knew it was stupid to be rendered speechless over someone's looks, especially when that someone was a fraud, a con artist. Someone that would have willingly erased the memories of my friends. Someone that would have let Ginny die.

But yet every time I looked at him, my mouth grew dry and my heart pounded against my rib cage like it only then realized it was beating at all.

"And one for Gladys...and one for little Joe..." Lockhart sang to himself as he continued writing. A lilac-scented candle burned on his desk, and I thought I had never seen anything as beautiful as his face shining in its warm glow. I swallowed another lump in my throat, and this sound was what finally notified Lockhart of my presence.

Suddenly he stopped speaking and writing, and his eyes darted up to the doorway, falling on me curiously. "Oh? Do I have a visitor?"

"O-oh, um, Professor Lockhart, it's-" I began, putting my hands behind my back nervously. I wanted to say "it's me", but I knew he probably had no idea who I was. Still, there was a small chance; he had somewhat recognized Harry, after all. "It's me. Hermione Granger." His stare remained clueless, his head tilted childishly to the side. "You used to teach me at Hogwarts."

"Ah, did I really?" He perked up and sat up straighter, offering me a dazzling smile. "You learned buckets of useful information from me, naturally? Well, no need to thank me. I'm sure I was simply doing my job!"

I smiled in return, my insides still shaky, unsure of how to reply to such a statement. In truth, I hadn't learned much of anything from him when he taught at Hogwarts, but at least his zit-vanishing spells had come in handy. That is, if he had created them himself, which I couldn't be sure of.

"Yes, you did teach me at Hogwarts. And I really enjoyed having you as my professor," I said honestly.

"Well, thank you. That is very nice to hear," he said, and after that, there was an awkward silence between us that felt like it lasted two days. Then he thankfully broke it by gesturing to his bed. "Come, come, sit! I rarely ever get visitors-I suppose most people are so intimidated by my good looks that they couldn't carry on a proper conversation if they saw me in person-so please, sit, sit."

I looked to my side at the grandfather clock that read 8:05. I was supposed to be back at Hogwarts by 9:30. I had plenty of time. And so I sat on the edge of his bed and glanced shyly over at him as he rolled up the parchment and placed it neatly inside the drawer of his desk before turning to face my. "So, Hermione Granger. Tell me about myself," he requested.

Once again my mouth had dried. Not only was I sitting mere inches away from this gorgeous man, but I was supposed to educate him about his past? A particularly shady one at that? "W-well, unfortunately I didn't get to know you very well, Professor-"

"I'm not a professor anymore, and I don't remember being one, so please call me Gilderoy."

"Oh. Um, Gilderoy." It felt so wrong. I had never called a teacher by their first name before, not once. "Well, you see, you taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I was your student, but I didn't-"

"Were you a good student?" he asked, and I was surprised that he was curious about anything besides himself.

I nodded and brushed a stray hair behind my ear. "Yes. To be honest, I got the highest grade in your class, Professor."

"Please call me Gilderoy."

"Sorry! Gilderoy. Um. Anyway, I never got to know you on a personal basis, but I can tell you some things that I know," I offered.

"Yes, please! Tell me anything and everything you know about me!"

He leaned forward in his enthusiasm, and his eyes were so intensely blue that I found it hard to think straight. I looked down at my lap. "Well, you...you went to Hogwarts yourself and you were in Ravenclaw house."

"Ravenclaw?" Looking up, I saw a flash of recognition hit his face like lightning. "That does sound a bit familiar. But what _is_ a Ravenclaw?"

"It's a house at Hogwarts." Seeing the look of confusion return to his face, I spent the next half hour explaining everything I could about Hogwarts as a school, about the different houses, about the Sorting Hat...I even recited a bit of its song.

Lockhart echoed the words back to me. "In wise old Ravenclaw if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning will always find their kind." He then shook his head and let out a loud laugh. "So on top of being handsome and charming, I was also an intellectual, hm? Good heavens!"

I couldn't help but chuckle in return. "That's what the Hat said, yes." According to everyone else at Hogwarts, however, he was a gigantic idiot. "Anyway, after you left school, you became a celebrated author. You wrote many books on defense against the dark arts...and you had scores of fans..." I took a deep breath. "...i-including me."

"You? Really?" He blinked rapidly. "Why were you a fan of me?"

At this, I froze. 'Why were you a fan of him? Oh, that's right. Because of his looks. You're just as superficial as the other girls,' I reminded myself, disgusted. 'And look at you now. Sitting and chatting with the man that almost ruined the lives of Harry, Ron, and Ginny. _Enjoying_ sitting and chatting with the man that almost ruined the lives of Harry, Ron, and Ginny.'

In my silence, Lockhart speculated: "Too many reasons? You don't know where to begin? Well, that's all right. It's getting late. You can always tell me the next time you visit me."

I remained silent, thoroughly sickened with myself. And then Lockhart reached across the few inches that divided us and gently placed his hand atop mine. "You _will _be visiting me again, won't you, my dear? I certainly hope so. I have so much enjoyed having you here. In one night, you have told me more about myself than I have learned in three years, and I greatly appreciate it."

In my stomach, disgust was now battling with butterflies. He was touching my hand. I had held hands with Viktor before this, but I never felt this kind of electricity with _him_.

"You're right. It's g-getting late. I-I have to go. I-" I finally stammered, slinking my hand away from Lockhart's, however reluctantly. The bed squeaked as I rose from my seat quickly and approached the door.

My conscience won out. But then Lockhart added: "Wait! Please, promise me you'll visit me again sometime. You don't know how painfully lonely it gets here."

Hand on the doorknob, I hesitated and turned around once more to look at him. He looked then like a small, abandoned child, his eyes big as saucers, his hands trembling. My heart sank and I found myself, against all my better judgment, whispering: "I...well, I might be able to visit you again, Professor..."

He smiled softly in the candlelight. "Thank you. But I insist that from now on you call me Gilderoy." Taking out the parchment from his dresser-drawer, he tore a small piece off and scribbled a note on it, standing up from his seat to hand it to me. "Just a reminder."

I nodded, stashed the note in my coat pocket, and left as quickly as I could. To shake off my guilt, I busied myself by visiting other residents on the Spell Damage floor, listening to their stories and offering them words of comfort. It wasn't until I was safely back in my own bed at 10:00 that night that I bothered to read what Lockhart had written me.

The handwriting was childish but I could see remnants of a once elegant hand at work. It read simply: "Thank you for visiting me. It was my favorite part of the day. Love, Gilderoy"

The worst part was that it had been my favorite part of the day too.

**Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


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